slow spiral
by towine
Summary: Akira and Souma spend an afternoon, evening, and night together. [akira/souma]


**notes:** SPOILERS for those who have only watched the anime! this is something i've wanted to write since reading akira and souma's arc in the manga, and coincidentally by the time i finished this, the anime caught up ghdfhg but anyway. sorry if it seems strange for tootsuki to have literature classes, the anime showed them in gym once, i figured it wasn't totally out of the question HAHA;; the book they're reading is made up by me; any similarities to other media is entirely coincidental TwT thanks for reading!

* * *

At the tail end of spring, the late afternoon sun slants high over the trees and spills dappled light onto the paths leading out of Tootsuki's campus. Groups of students walk its lengths back to their dormitories, ties loosened and stiff blazers forgone in a recent bout of warm weather. Trips to the beach or public parks are a popular choice for weekend excursions, and excitement already buzzes in the conversations that murmur through campus.

Akira, however, has plans elsewhere.

The shadow of Tootsuki's main library looms over him, students milling about at the front of the building or walking in and out of the great wooden doors. Slinging his school bag over one shoulder, he climbs the steps leading up through the open doors and into a blast of cold air, the air conditioner working hard to fight the afternoon heat. The library is far from empty, students running to and fro with stacks of books in their arms, and Akira only regards them for a moment before his phone vibrates in his pocket.

A text: _i'm on the fourth floor, in the back by the windows_

Akira jabs a thumb into the elevator call button.

The fourth floor is far emptier than the rest of the library, as most people opt for taking the stairs to the recently refurbished lower floors. But Akira favors the higher floors himself for the quiet and solitude, and the wide windows that open up into a view of Tootsuki's tree-lined plaza. Walking past the endless rows of books to where tables are neatly arranged by the windows, he finds who he is looking for.

Yukihira lounges in a chair in the corner, deeply engrossed in the paperback book in his hands.

When Akira approaches, Yukihira lifts his head at the sound of footsteps, and his eyes light up in recognition before he lifts a hand and smiles. "Yo, Hayama!"

He pulls out the empty chair next to him and Akira gives him a polite nod before dropping into it, placing his bag on the table next to Yukihira's belongings: his phone, notebooks, a pencil bag. Yukihira lays his book face down on the table, open to the page he was reading. Akira recognizes it as _Fortune Favors_ , the assigned reading for their shared Critical Reading and Writing class.

"Haven't finished it yet?" Akira asks him.

Yukihira scratches his cheek sheepishly. "Er, maybe."

"This assignment is due Monday."

"Don't remind me," he laments, slumping in his chair. "I'm still hurt that Tootsuki has required general education classes. I thought this was a culinary school."

"It's still a high school," Akira says. "And general education is part of it."

Yukihira is sinking deeper and deeper into his chair. If he sinks any further he will surely disappear beneath the table and be lost forever to the winding halls of the library.

So Akira says, "At least this book isn't bad."

Yukihira perks up. "Yeah! I actually like it." He points a threatening finger at Akira. "Don't tell me any spoilers. I'm dying to know if Kan and Hiro will reconcile, but I'll find out on my own."

Akira raises his hands in surrender. "Fine. Are they your favorites?"

"Maybe? All the characters are pretty cool, though. Rie might be my favorite, she's the most level-headed of everyone."

"She is."

"What about you?" Yukihira leans in with interest.

"Hiro is the most interesting to me, I suppose."

"Really?" Yukihira tilts his head, looking at him. The discerning nature of his gaze nearly makes Akira fidget. "I can see that. Figures you'd pick the quiet, complex type."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Yukihira grins. "It means you're broody."

"Enough." Akira tosses an eraser at him and Yukihira laughs as he dodges it. Typical.

"Well," he moves on, pulling a worksheet out of one of the folders in his bag, "if you haven't finished the book yet, we can just work on the first page of questions."

"Okay, sure." Yukihira pulls out his own worksheet and a pencil.

Being with him like this is strange. It was already surprising enough for Akira to walk into his Critical Reading and Writing class on the first day of the new semester and find Yukihira sitting in the desk behind his, looking equally surprised. Their classes never lined up before, not during all their time as first years—they were only ever brought together by the Autumn Election and his and Kurokiba's visits to the Shiomi Seminar. It feels like a lifetime ago, long before the shadow of Nakiri Azami engulfed the school. But the Shiomi Seminar was the only place they ever really talked to each other without the weight of an audience watching them, without judges and expectations and the burning need for results.

Though Azami's shadow has long passed, Yukihira hasn't visited the newly reinstated Shiomi Seminar since. Akira has never spoken to him about it, even as they've talked amiably with each other over the course of the semester. He never expected that a class not even remotely related to food would reconnect them.

" _Briefly summarize the first five chapters of the book_ ," Yukihira reads aloud from the worksheet. He taps the eraser end of his pencil against the table in thought. "A boy named Kan finds a book that tells the future. He doesn't believe it until he sees one of the predictions come true."

Akira nods, pencil scratching against his worksheet as he writes. "And after he realizes the book is real, he uses it to his advantage in various ways."

"Until one day the book tells him his close friend Hiro will commit suicide. Kan tries to help Hiro and change the book's prediction without telling him what he knows."

After a moment of silence as they write their answers, Yukihira asks, "Would you keep it?"

Akira looks up from his paper. "What?"

"A book that told the future. Would you keep it if you found it?"

He considers it. "I'm not sure. Probably not."

"Why?"

He looks out through the window, and the sky is wide and blue over the buildings and treetops. "I make my own future," he says. "I don't need or want a book to tell it to me."

When Akira turns back to look at Yukihira, he is smiling.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Yukihira says. His amusement is utterly perplexing. "I'm just not surprised."

For some reason, that brings heat to Akira's face. He clears his throat and says, "Would you keep the book, then?"

"No way. Knowing the future seems kind of messy." Yukihira shrugs a shoulder. "It changes all the time. Even if I could use it to help a friend… I would find a way to help them even without it. Just talk and be honest and stuff, instead of worrying about the words in a book. I feel like that's kind of a message in the story, at least as far as I've read."

Akira has to smile a little to himself. "It looks like we can make a literary scholar of you yet, Yukihira.

"Jeez, definitely not, I'm no good at this sort of stuff."

Akira has to disagree, but instead of pressing, he moves on. "Question two…"

They move through the next few questions with relative ease. Akira finished the book not long after it was assigned earlier in the week, and the details of the earlier chapters have grown slightly hazy to him after time. But not for Yukihira, who admittedly only started the book the day before yesterday. Time passes as they work and the sun begins to dip lower and lower into the sky, and once the afternoon has turned into evening, one of the library assistants approaches their table.

"I'm sorry, but the library will be closing soon," she informs them.

"Oh, I forgot it closes early on Saturday," Yukihira says as Akira glances at his watch to confirm the time.

"We'll be going right away," Akira tells her and she leaves them.

"Hey, we're almost done with the first page. Do you want to finish it at my place?" Yukihira asks.

Akira pauses in the middle of putting his things back into his bag. He has never visited the Polar Star dorm. All this time knowing Yukihira and his dormmates, especially after spending so much time with them during the Régiment de Cuisine last year, and yet he has never visited the dorm that he has heard so much about. It isn't that late into the evening yet, he supposes, and it would be good to get more work done and free up his weekend that much more.

He says, "Alright. If it isn't too much trouble."

Yukihira gets up from his chair, grinning. "I wouldn't have asked if it was."

Polar Star is closer to this side of campus than the Shiomi Seminar building, so it is a shorter walk than Akira is used to. On the way, they talk about their other classes—the ones actually related to cooking—and it is here that familiarity starts to kick in again. This takes Akira back to their heated conversations at the Shiomi Seminar. They never were able to agree on most things when it came to the kitchen, but Akira preferred it that way; the way Yukihira didn't pull any punches.

"You cannot seriously be considering making a pork version of katsuobushi," Akira says as they step through the wrought iron gates guarding the entrance of Polar Star.

"It's possible, I saw it on a documentary!" Yukihira insists, speaking animatedly with his hands. "I did pretty well with the saury, right, back at the Autumn Election? And I thought, why not try fermenting pork instead of fish? Pork flakes instead of bonito flakes. And after that, the possibilities are endless!"

"I never pegged you for an expert on fermentation."

"Well, no, but one of my dormmates is. C'mon." Yukihira elbows him lightly, a gesture of familiarity that Akira is unused to. "You can't tell me you aren't even a little bit curious."

"Perhaps it's not entirely out of the question," Akira allows, ignoring Yukihira's triumphant smile. "But work first before any exploration of rotted meat."

"Fair enough." Yukihira pushes through the front door.

Inside is quiet. Akira is surprised. From what he recalls from his encounters with Polar Star's residents, they are an energetic bunch, but the halls here are silent and without a single dorm resident to be seen. He is used to having his own privacy as the only student resident at the Shiomi Seminar, and he always imagined the school dormitories were the complete opposite.

"Everyone's off doing their own thing right now," Yukihira explains, leading the way to the stairs. "Trust me, come dinner time this place will be crazy."

"I see." Akira follows Yukihira up the stairs to the third floor.

"Everyone has their own area of expertise," he continues, digging in his school bag as they venture further into the hall. "Tadokoro's in the Regional Cuisine RS, Yoshino's all about game meat and has her own pens out back, and Sakaki is always in the onsite kouji lab."

"So what's yours?" Akira asks.

Yukihira stops in front of a door marked '303' and pulls out a key from his bag. He slides it into the lock, and before opening it, he shoots a grin over his shoulder at Akira.

He says, "I'm kind of a wild card. I'm all over the place."

"Well that's certainly true," Akira says, and Yukihira laughs as he pushes the door open.

The room is well kept. The bed is made and laundry is piled neatly into a hamper in the corner. Yukihira walks over to the window to open it, and the white curtains sway gently with the evening breeze. There are cookbooks and mangas pressed into the bookshelf by his desk, a colorful assortment of titles that Akira cannot read from the doorway. A modest number of posters and photos adorn the walls.

Yukihira must interpret his silence as surprise, because he says with amusement, "Did you think I live in a sty or something?"

"Of course not," Akira says primly, placing his bag on the table in the center of the room. By now he has learned that nothing about Yukihira Souma can be expected or predicted.

"Yeah, yeah," Yukihira says, walking over to the fridge in his kitchenette. "You want anything? I have barley tea, water…"

"Tea is fine."

Akira settles into one of the cushions at the table, glancing around the room. If he thought spending time with Yukihira at the library was strange, being in his room is even stranger. It's more personal than Akira ever expected to be with him, like he is glimpsing into a part of Yukihira that he doesn't normally get to see. Tootsuki's demand for dedication and perfection rarely allows ventures into unrelated hobbies or interests. To see aspects of Yukihira outside of his usual chef persona is an entirely new experience for Akira.

He examines the posters on the wall and realizes he recognizes one of them. When Yukihira drops into the seat across from him, a bottle of barley tea in one hand and two glasses in the other, Akira asks, "Is that a Mitski poster?"

Yukihira's eyes light up. "You listen to her?"

"A bit."

More than a bit, but Akira isn't going to admit to the tangle of emotions he felt when he listened to _First Love/Late Spring_ for the first time and the subsequent hours he spent listening to it on repeat. There are limits to his candor.

"Oh man, we should go to a show if she does one in Tokyo sometime," Yukihira says excitedly, nudging a glass of barley tea towards Akira before pouring another glass for himself.

Akira sips at his tea as he considers it. He has never been to a concert before. His assignments and research keep him far too busy to do much else beyond the confines of Tootsuki's campus. But he doesn't find the idea of going to one with Yukihira particularly disagreeable.

"Perhaps," he says, running a finger along the edge of his glass. "If Tootsuki ever gives us enough free time to do so."

"You got a point there," Yukihira sighs, rummaging in his bag for the worksheet. "We've only got a couple more questions before we hit the chapters I haven't read. I think we can get them done before Fumio-san calls us for dinner."

Akira takes out his own worksheet and his copy of _Fortune Favors_. Skimming down to where they left off, he reads aloud, " _Describe the progression of Kan and Hiro's relationship up to chapter seventeen._ Simple enough."

"They were good friends." Yukihira flips quickly through the book to the relevant pages. "They met in their first year in high school and were close by the time they reached their third year."

"Yes. Hence Kan's despair at the book's prediction."

Yukihira nods, lingering on a page in the latter half of the book, reading a passage Akira cannot see from his vantage point.

"And Kan is definitely in love with him by the end of chapter thirteen," he says.

Akira pauses, pencil halting mid-sentence. "… What?"

Yukihira looks up at him. "What?"

"What did you say about Kan?"

"That he's in love with Hiro?"

He looks confused about Akira's confusion.

"I don't recall reading that particular line in the book," Akira says slowly.

Yukihira turns embarrassed. "I mean, it isn't said explicitly, but it's not exactly subtext."

Akira lowers his pencil and raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I mean." Yukihira looks up at the ceiling, thinking hard. "He drops everything to help him. Before, he just used the powers of the book for himself. But when he reads the prediction about Hiro, it changes everything."

He drops his gaze from the ceiling to meet Akira's eyes. "Kan puts his all into helping him. He was wrong to hide the truth about what he knew, yeah, but once the book's prediction changes, it's not like he stops spending time with him. I think he grew to value that time even more. And I think he realized he would do anything to help his friend be happy."

The fervency in Yukihira's voice grows, enough that Akira is taken aback. His words strike an odd chord within him.

"And it could be platonic, yeah, but—but it feels… It just _feels_ like love to me. That kind of care and emotion and—yearning. I…"

Yukihira's voice peters out, suddenly fumbling to finish. His face has turned red with heat.

"But I haven't finished the book yet," Yukihira adds clumsily. "I still have a little to go, so… For all I know, Kan tells him at the end, 'I love being best bros, bro.'"

Akira snorts a laugh, too quick for him to stifle into his hand. That seems to make Yukihira relax a little.

"He does not say that, no," Akira informs him, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Yukihira's eyes follow the movement before focusing back on Akira's face. "But I can see now what you mean. I think that interpretation has merit. They are clearly important to each other."

His face turns warm as he says it. The flush on Yukihira's cheeks hasn't entirely faded away, either.

"That would be a good topic for the one page reflection we have to write at the end," he says.

"A whole page?" Yukihira says, flipping over the worksheet to read the final question himself. "Aw man."

"So you really should finish the book soon."

"Don't worry, I'll—"

"Alright you young'uns," a voice rings out from nowhere, and Akira nearly jumps in his seat. "Dinner's served downstairs."

"What was that?" he asks with alarm.

"That was Fumio-san." Yukihira points to an open pipe in a far corner of the room. "Polar Star has these pipes running through the building and in each room. I guess they were used to communicate before cellphones were a thing."

"Huh," Akira says, unsettled.

"Anyway." Yukihira rises to his feet, stretches. "You hungry?"

When they step out into the hallway, the difference is immediate. A contrast to the eerie quiet when they first arrived, Akira hears a clamor downstairs and voices debating loudly over topics he can't pick out. Closing the door behind them, Yukihira grins.

"I told you dinner would be crazy," he says and leads the way back downstairs.

The dining room is already bustling despite Fumio only announcing dinner minutes ago. There are some familiar faces Akira knows: Sakaki emerges from the kitchen bearing more dishes for the table, Yoshino is stealing pieces of meat from Marui's plate as she talks enthusiastically, and Ibusaki quietly assists in turning pieces of meat on an electric griddle set up in the center of the table. Aside from them, there are a large number of other residents he hasn't seen before. Last year, Polar Star was sparsely populated, an unpopular dorm compared to the many others at Tootsuki. With the events of last year, that seems to have changed drastically.

"Yakiniku!" Yukihira says excitedly when he sees the assortment of foods on the table and hurries forward.

"Hayamacchi!" Yoshino says in surprise upon seeing Akira. "I didn't know you were here."

"Pardon the intrusion," he says, taking a seat as Yukihira grabs plates and utensils.

Yoshino waves a hand. "No intrusion at all! You're an honorary Polar Star resident after the hell we went through last year."

Akira smiles a little at that. "It's an honor."

"What brings you over?" Ibusaki asks over the heat of the grill. "Yukihira give you trouble?"

"Why would you assume that?" Yukihira butts in. "What if he just wanted the joy of my company?"

"We're working on a class assignment," Akira says.

Yoshino laughs as Yukihira pouts, and Akira feels more at home than he expected to be.

"You guys," Yukihira protests, "the first years' respect for me is already fragile enough, this isn't helping."

"First years?" Akira raises a brow.

Yukihira gestures further down the table to some of the younger students that Akira didn't recognize. "We got a lot of new dormmates this year."

"Aren't they adorable?" Yoshino coos. "So young and hopeful and full of zest for life."

"I miss those days," Marui mutters, chewing on a piece of beef.

"I'm not sure you've ever had zest for life, Marui," Yukihira says and the rest of them laugh as Marui flicks a slice of green onion at him.

It has been a while since Akira has spent time with so many others like this. He enjoys his solitude and the kind of quiet that lets him be in tune with his own thoughts. But over the course of his time at Tootsuki, especially during the whirlwind of events last year that swept through the school and dragged him through hell and back, he has found that he enjoys this, too: the energy, the unpredictability, the fun. He enjoys spending time with his friends, if they let him regard them as such.

Jun would be proud if he ever voiced this, he is sure. She would also get unnecessarily teary-eyed and make things awkward, but he has learned that it really is for the best that he does not cut himself off like he used to so often before now. He has a particular person to thank for that.

Yukihira is not looking at him right now, too deeply involved in the conversation with his dormmates, but that is fine. Despite everything last year—Yukihira's perseverance, the trying and failing and trying again to find a dish that would beat Akira's sense of smell, Yukihira's harsh words and his fists pulling Akira in by the collar as he said, " _It was for you."_

Despite any of it, they haven't really talked like they have today.

It disappoints Akira more than he ever expected. In some weird twist of fate, they have found themselves together again. Perhaps he should be grateful, if Yukihira has been so distracted or busy as to prevent him from visiting the Shiomi Seminar again. Or even worse, if he has lost interest entirely.

That thought is difficult to swallow.

"Hey."

Akira is pulled out of his thoughts by Yukihira's voice.

"You okay?" Yukihira asks, head tilted in curiosity.

Akira hopes he wasn't staring into space.

"I'm fine," he says. "Thank you for having me over for dinner. I can't say I really expected it when we decided to meet up today."

"Of course," Yukihira says. "What kind of date would I be without including dinner?"

Akira promptly chokes on the tea he is drinking.

"I heard the word 'date,'" Yoshino says with keen interest, looking eagerly in their direction as Akira works on getting air back into his lungs.

Yukihira rubs his back apologetically, and Akira would appreciate it if his touch didn't make him feel more warm and uncomfortable inside, a strange and fluttering sensation breaking out in his stomach.

As this debacle happens, Ibusaki says to the table, "Hey, I'm heading back upstairs." He holds out two pairs of metal tongs. "Yukihira, Hayama, mind taking over?"

"Sure." Yukihira takes them both, holds one out for Akira. As Ibusaki waves in farewell and makes his way out of the dining room, Yukihira says quietly enough that only Akira can hear: "Sorry."

When Akira finally manages to calm his wheezing, he refocuses on Yukihira. His eyes still hold a tinge of mirth, but there is also sincere contrition.

"It's alright," Akira reassures, taking one of the tongs. "Don't worry about it."

"You know you're always welcome to come over for dinner." Yukihira examines a few pieces on the grill, judges them not ready for flipping yet. Then he looks at Akira with a smile. "You don't need some school assignment as an excuse."

"Well," Akira says, chewing on the words in his mouth before finally letting them go. "The same extends to you. You're always welcome at the Shiomi Seminar."

"Really?" Yukihira says, and Akira cannot believe he is actually surprised by this.

"Whether or not you had permission never seemed to stop you before," Akira dryly reminds him.

"I guess, huh," Yukihira laughs weakly. There is something stiff and awkward about it. It makes Akira backtrack.

"I didn't mean—"

"Hayamacchi," Yoshino interrupts, suddenly leaning into his space. Akira leans away in surprise. "How can you cook with your hair in your face like that?"

"I'm sorry?" Akira says, blinking in confusion.

"You're going to burn your beautiful hair someday if you don't pin it back." Yoshino holds what Akira recognizes as a hairclip in her hand. "May I?"

"Er—" Akira is mostly too caught off-guard to deny her, and Yoshino brushes his long bangs back and pins them firmly in place.

"There," she says. "Isn't that better?"

To her credit, his field of vision has cleared somewhat. Jun has scolded him about this before, and to face this lecture again now in front of the others—more importantly, in front of Yukihira—is a little embarrassing.

But his manners still come first, and he says, "Um. Thank you."

That seems to please Yoshino, and after she returns to her business, Akira turns back to his own and finds Yukihira staring at him and trying very poorly to hide his amusement.

"Not a word," Akira warns. He smells that the meat is ready and moves to flip them with the tongs.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Yukihira insists, biting firmly down on the smile threatening to overtake his face.

 _I didn't mean that your visits were unwelcome_.

Akira feels the words at the tip of his tongue. There is a deep need within him to make sure Yukihira understands this. _Even if I complained, even if I told you to leave, those are some of my dearest memories_.

It would be strange for him to bring it up now. He swallows the words down, and lets dinner continue undisturbed.

When they return to Yukihira's room later that night, after dinner is finished and dishes are washed, Akira feels the beginnings of sleep pry at him. But there is more work to be done and a quick glance at his watch tells him it is still too early to go to bed. He can hear Jun's voice in his head scolding him on the importance of rest, but she is not here at the moment. Only Yukihira, who flops onto his bed as soon as they're inside.

"Sleeping?" Akira asks him as he takes a seat at the table.

"No," Yukihira says with a yawn. Akira nearly smiles. "I am a little brain dead, though, after eating. I think I'll read more of the book right now if you don't mind? I don't have the mental capacity to answer critical thinking questions."

"That's fine," Akira says. "I'll just work ahead a little."

"Okay. But first, can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"My book is on the table. Can you bring it to me? I'm lazy." Yukihira has sprawled out on the mattress, utterly uncouth in front of a guest.

Rolling his eyes, Akira complies. Yukihira gives him a grin then cracks open the book to where he stuck a bookmark.

The room falls quiet after that. There is only the scratch of Akira's pencil dragging over the paper, the occasional turn of a page. A couple times Akira glances up at Yukihira, observes his profile as he reads. Despite Yukihira's tiredness from earlier, he looks alert and engaged as he finishes each page. Akira glances away before staring too long.

After about an hour of this, he has nearly finished his worksheet, and all that remains is writing his one page reflection. He contemplates starting on an outline for his paper when he hears the distinct sound of a sniffle from Yukihira's side of the room.

Looking up, he sees Yukihira's face stuffed further into the book than he previously held it. There is another loud sniff and a corresponding twitch in Yukihira's shoulders.

Panic flares up in Akira when he realizes he is crying.

"Yukihira?" he says tentatively, rising to his feet and approaching him slowly.

"Er, yes?" is Yukihira's watery response, and he jerkily wipes at his eyes from behind the book. "Nothing at all is happening over here."

Akira rests a hand on top of the book, gently pushes it down until he can see Yukihira's face. He is not outright sobbing, but there are definitely tears clinging to his eyelashes.

Fondness fills Akira's heart so suddenly it's almost staggering.

"It's okay," he says as Yukihira tugs the book up to cover his face again.

"I tried really hard to hold it in but, god." Yukihira lets his head fall backwards into the pillows, letting the book lay on his chest.

Unsure of what else to do, Akira carefully takes a seat on the edge of the bed beside him. Yukihira does not protest.

"The end is good," Akira admits.

"It's _so_ good," Yukihira gushes. "I'm just—so glad everything worked out in the end. Man." He skims over the last page again, then drops the book back onto his chest when he finishes. " _Man_."

"Are you going to cry again?"

"Shut up." Yukihira punctuates it with a wet snort.

"Think you're ready to write a paper on it?"

"Excuse me, I still need some time to process all this."

"Fine, fine." Akira smiles. "So now that you've finished it, do you still believe it?"

"Believe what?"

"That they were in love. Kan and Hiro."

"Oh." Yukihira turns a little flustered at the reminder, absentmindedly toying with the corner of the book cover. "Well, at least on Kan's end, I feel more sure now than before that he loved him. Whether or not it was mutual is up for debate. But…" Yukihira turns his head on the pillow until he can look at Akira. "I think Kan was just happy to have Hiro as a part of his life. And that's really all that matters."

There it is again—that strange _pull_ inside Akira that he felt when they talked about this earlier. Like Yukihira is saying something very important.

Before he can think any more on it, Yukihira looks at him and laughs.

"What is it?" Akira asks.

"Hayama, you still—"

"What?"

"Here."

Yukihira sits up, moving into Akira's space. Alarm is his first instinct, but he stays still as Yukihira reaches up and touches something in his hair.

"You still have the hairclip from earlier," he says, close enough that his breath ghosts over Akira's skin. Akira's own breath is frozen in his lungs, afraid that even the rise of his chest might make him move away. Yukihira unfastens the hairclip, letting Akira's bangs fall back into place.

"Oh," Akira says.

It takes Yukihira a moment to realize what he has done before his face turns bright red.

"Sorry, I—I wasn't thinking—"

"It's fine," Akira says. "Thank you. I completely forgot."

Yukihira nods stiffly, gives the hairclip back to Akira despite it not even being his. Then he asks, "Did it help?"

"It kind of did," Akira admits, playing with the hairclip in his fingers. It is yellow and dotted with white hearts. "Perhaps Yoshino was onto something."

Yukihira snickers. Akira smiles, and just like that the tension is broken. He can exhale again. They are still sitting close to each other, and when Yukihira's laughter fades into quiet, their eyes meet. Traces of a smile still linger on Yukihira's face. Akira is struck by the sudden need to say something, anything.

He opens his mouth, takes a breath.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

He tears his gaze away from Yukihira to check it, and he finds a long text from Jun questioning his whereabouts with many question marks.

"Oh," he says, realizing the time has passed 9PM. "I need to go home."

Yukihira checks the time on his own phone and says, "Oh man, I didn't realize how late it is."

"I'm sorry to impose on you for so long."

Akira rises from the bed. The expression on Yukihira's face when he does is a strange mix of surprise and dismay.

"You didn't impose at all," he says, getting up off the bed. He watches as Akira gathers his things on the table and returns them to his bag.

"We didn't finish the worksheet," Akira says, "but we have a decent amount finished. It shouldn't be difficult to finish the rest on our own."

"On our own," Yukihira echoes quietly. "Right."

Akira hesitates before slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Although we could maybe… discuss our answers before class on Monday."

"Yeah! Yeah, that would be good." Yukihira nods a few times too many, shuffles his feet, sticks his hands in his pockets. "Will you be okay walking back? It's dark and the Shiomi Seminar is on the other side of campus."

Akira has not, in fact, been out this late before, and it's no wonder Jun is worried about his prolonged absence. He estimated he would be home before dinner and told her as such; he did not expect to spend so much time with Yukihira today.

"I should be fine," he says. "I'll cut through campus, it's faster."

Yukihira blurts, "Why don't you stay?"

Akira raises his eyebrows.

Yukihira slaps a hand over his eyes in embarrassment. "Er, I mean—" He drops his hand and takes a breath. "Why don't you just stay the night? You shouldn't walk such a long way so late. And tomorrow's Sunday, you don't have to worry about class."

Akira holds his phone, thumb paused over the button to send his text to Jun telling her he is on his way home.

"I would really be imposing, then," he says, and though his mind is telling him to go, his feet do not move.

"I already said you're not imposing."

"But I didn't bring any clothes, or—"

"You can borrow some."

Akira looks at him. If he didn't know any better, he would think Yukihira is trying to get him to stay. But he does know better—he knows that Yukihira hasn't visited in months despite the fact that he is the reason the Shiomi Seminar survived in the first place, and the reason Akira didn't stay a pawn of Nakiri Azami and Central. He doesn't understand why Yukihira would want him to stay now when it feels like he has avoided his company for as long as Akira has wanted to see him again.

He wanted to see him again.

And now that he has, he also realizes he wants to stay. Despite everything, he just wants to stay.

He says, "Okay."

Yukihira's eyes widen, clearly not expecting Akira to actually agree. "Okay?"

"Yes."

Akira's thumb moves from the 'send' button to the backspace key, deleting his message to Jun. "I just need to call Jun first, if that's alright. I think she'll understand."

"Sure, of course."

When Akira steps out into the hallway, his heart is beating hard in his chest. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he presses Jun's number in his contacts and listens to the phone ring. Jun answers before the first ring even finishes.

"Hayama-kun, where are you?" she demands, worry thick in her voice.

"I'm sorry," he says, leaning against the wall beside Yukihira's door. "I went to Polar Star with Yukihira after the library closed and lost track of time."

She exhales a loud sigh of relief. "Goodness, I didn't know what to think. You don't usually stay out so late."

"I know. I'm sorry to worry you."

"It's alright. Just promise you'll tell me when plans change, okay?" she says softly.

"I promise."

"So are you going home now?"

"Actually," Akira begins, hesitating, "I wanted to ask you if it was alright that I stay at Polar Star tonight."

"You want to sleep over?" Jun says, surprised.

"It's late and Yukihira offered. The Shiomi Seminar is a far walk from Polar Star."

"I suppose that's true. If you really want to, Hayama-kun, then it's fine with me. Just let me know when you plan on coming back tomorrow."

"I will. Thank you." Akira is about to tell her good night and hang up, but stops. "Wait. Don't forget to lock the front door before you go to bed."

Jun huffs, "Who do you think I am? Of course I'll lock the door!"

"And the windows. And don't forget to water the plants in the morning. And I believe maintenance is visiting tomorrow, as well—"

" _Hayama-kun_ ," Jun says indignantly, "I can take care of it, I promise."

"… Are you sure?"

"Good night and have fun!"

She hangs up.

Akira is still worried he may return to the Shiomi Seminar to find it burglarized or burned to the ground or worse, but all he can do now is have faith.

When he comes back into the room, Yukihira is on his phone and lying in bed, wearing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He looks up from his phone when Akira enters.

"What'd she say?" he asks.

"I can stay."

Yukihira's expression brightens. "Really?"

Akira nods. He notices a pile of neatly folded clothes on the table.

"Those are for you," Yukihira explains, sitting up. He gestures to the kitchenette in the corner of the room. "You can brush your teeth at the sink, I have a spare toothbrush."

"Thank you."

Akira loosens his tie, tugs at one end until it slips off his neck. When he toys at the edge of his uniform top, he glances up at Yukihira who is absentmindedly watching, and gives him a pointed look.

"Oh!" Yukihira whips around, shoulders stiff with embarrassment. "Sorry, sorry."

Akira's face is warm, his heartbeat slightly quickening beneath his skin. He unbuttons the shirt one by one, and when it falls off his shoulders he folds it and lays it on the table. He takes off his undershirt too, then pulls on Yukihira's spare shirt. The cotton is worn and soft—it's a dark shirt bearing the now familiar characters of _Yukihira_. Akira can smell the faint lavender scent of laundry detergent.

Yukihira, still looking steadfastly at the wall, clears his throat and asks, "S-So… Did you still want to work tonight, or?"

"Only if you want to." Akira slips into the provided sweatpants, and they sit a little shorter at his ankles than they do on Yukihira. "It's rather late now."

"We got a lot done today. We deserve a break, right?"

Akira nods, gathering his clothes into a neat pile. "Sure." He looks around the room. "So, do you have an extra futon, or?"

Yukihira finally turns around now that Akira has finished changing. "Actually, I have extra blankets and pillows, and I figured I'd take the floor and you can take the bed."

"No," Akira says firmly. "I'm already putting you out enough as it is. I'll take the floor."

"You're my guest," Yukihira insists, already at the closet and dragging out another duvet and two pillows. "You should have the bed."

"No."

"Yes."

They glare at each other from across the room, Akira with his arms crossed and patience wearing thin. Yukihira's crossed his arms as well, but his stern image is slightly betrayed by the overflowing duvet in his arms, decorated with a pattern of yellow ducklings. Akira feels a smile threaten to crack the exterior he is fighting so hard to keep up.

He moves to the bed, and for a brief moment Yukihira's expression turns triumphant. It quickly changes to bewildered as Akira gathers the other duvet and pillows in his own arms and drops them to the ground.

"If you're going to be stubborn," Akira says, "then we can both take the floor."

"If _I'm_ stubborn?" Yukihira says incredulously. "There's a perfectly good bed, just take it."

Instead of answering him, Akira smooths the duvet and arranges the pillows accordingly.

Sighing loudly, Yukihira drops his, too.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" he says, sitting on his duvet after he finishes spreading it.

Akira wanders over to the kitchenette to brush his teeth. He notices the other toothbrush by the sink is wet; Yukihira must have brushed while he was calling Jun.

"You're the one who invited me," he says before wetting his brush and sticking it into his mouth.

"And you're the one who said yes," Yukihira says, but when Akira glances over at him, he is fighting to hide a smile.

"That I did," Akira admits, garbled through a mouthful of foamy toothpaste.

When he finishes, wiping his face on a spare towel and wandering back to their mess on the floor, Yukihira watches him as he sits on the duvet beside him.

"Hey," he says, phone in hand. He has a music app open. "Listen to this."

Before Akira can ask what, Yukihira presses play.

The song starts with a hum through the room, a low rumble of guitars and murmured lyrics. The kind of music that sinks in and settles somewhere warm in Akira's ribcage, the thump of the drums beating in time with his heart.

He lies down on his back, his hair spilling loose over the pillows and sheets. Beside him, Yukihira lies back too, a careless sprawl of limbs that bumps their ankles together, and his arm rests against Akira's in a sustained point of warmth. If he moved his hand just so, their fingers would brush.

Yukihira says with a faint smile, "I thought you might like this one."

The music washes over them.

Akira has never felt so close to another human being before. He has been physically closer to others, sure—he's had his share of hugs and friendly touches—but this feels fundamentally different. Lying next to Yukihira in his room, in his bedsheets, and even in his _clothes_ —it all feels dream-like, surreal, especially with music flooding the air like the kind of movies Jun pretends she doesn't like to watch. He would laugh at it all if he didn't feel so much like drowning, longing filling his lungs until every breath aches in his chest. A year ago he would never have expected Yukihira to be the one to make him feel so terribly vulnerable. But now, after everything, he knows it couldn't have been anyone else.

When the song fades out, Akira says, "That was good."

Yukihira grins. "Awesome, right? There's this other one you'd like—"

"Why don't you visit the Shiomi Seminar anymore?" Akira asks before he can stop himself.

Yukihira freezes.

He plows on, "Back then, when I was the 9th seat and we fought against each other. You said you did it for me, so I would taste your cooking. And you won, fair and square. Afterwards, you offered to let the Shiomi Seminar continue at Polar Star."

Turning onto his side, Akira slides his gaze to meet Yukihira's wide-eyed one. "Things turned out differently, but I am grateful for what you did. I'm glad you won. I'm truly glad."

Akira looks away, averting his gaze down to the rise and fall of Yukihira's chest as he continues listening silently. He can feel the heat radiating from Yukihira's body in front of him. They are so close it's nearly unbearable.

"My only regret," he says, "is that it has taken this long to see you again. I thought that maybe—maybe after everything, we might still be friends."

This was a mistake. The words kept flowing out of Akira's mouth, unable to stop, and now there is nothing left for him to hide. Instinct tells him to leave now while he still can, but the need to know keeps him here against all reason. At worst, Yukihira will tell him he has no further need or desire to visit anymore. At best—Akira can't even imagine it, his mind too focused on the certainty of total rejection.

Yukihira takes a slow breath, a slow exhale.

"You want to know why?" he asks, his voice whisper-soft.

"Yes," Akira says.

Yukihira turns onto his side, lifts one hand to curl his fingers into the loose fabric of Akira's shirtfront. He leans in.

Before Akira can react, their lips press together in a brief, warm touch.

It is quick enough that for a moment Akira thinks he imagined it. But Yukihira's face is ripe red, and his fingers are still caught in his shirt.

"Because," he says, "I was afraid that if I saw you again, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from doing that."

Akira stares at him, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

"That doesn't make sense," he says numbly. "We've seen each other every day in class for weeks."

Yukihira's blush worsens. "That's because we were in public, Hayama, I have a sense of decency."

Words still fail to make themselves coherent in Akira's mouth. The warmth of the kiss still lingers on his lips, faint and pleasant. He wants to rub his thumb against it, as if to find a trace of Yukihira still there.

More than that, he realizes he wants to kiss Yukihira again.

"But I've been in your room since six o'clock," Akira says.

Yukihira furrows his brows, defensive. "What's your point?"

"I mean." Akira breathes in, wets his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue where Yukihira's mouth had just touched. "I mean you could have kissed me much earlier today."

It is Yukihira's turn to stare in shock. He turns impossibly redder, nearly as red as the hair on his head, and so frazzled that Akira half expects his hair to stand on end. Suddenly, all he wants to do is laugh. How foolish he has been. So much time wasted.

He curls in on his side, inching their bodies closer together until the colors of their hair fall into one another, strands of silver-white spilling into a shock of red softer than Akira expected it to be.

"So that's why," he says quietly.

Yukihira swallows, and Akira watches the dip of his throat as he does. "Yeah. I'm sorry if I made you think that I didn't want to see you, or something like that."

Akira shakes his head. "You weren't obligated to visit. I suppose I just… I…"

"Missed me?" Yukihira suggests.

Akira flushes, raising a hand to cover his face. "Certainly not."

"Aw, it's okay." Even with his fingers covering his eyes, Akira can hear the grin in Yukihira's voice. "I missed you too. For the record, I didn't think I was being subtle or anything."

"Not exactly subtext?" Akira says, echoing their conversation from earlier.

"You could say that."

"Well, I've never been very good at reading between the lines, as it were."

Yukihira's fingers curl tighter in Akira's shirt, palm pressed right against his heart. "Hayama Akira, not good at something? Impossible." His grin widens.

Akira shuts him up by pressing their lips together again.

It is new and different, just like the many other strange things he has done today since meeting with Yukihira at the library what feels like ages ago. He had no idea this was where they would end up: in Yukihira's room, in Yukihira's sheets, and kissing with a clumsy hesitance that only makes him want to try again and again until they, finally, get it right. It is new and it is different, but at the same time, he feels as though it is a long time coming. Like they have always been drawn together in this slow, inward spiral, and are finally meeting each other in the middle.

Yukihira moves his hand from Akira's shirt to his neck to his hair, tangling there, and Akira's own fingers skim over the strip of skin between the edge of Yukihira's shirt and the waistband of his sweatpants.

He gasps suddenly, flinching away, and before Akira can begin frantically apologizing, he says, " _Ticklish_ , watch it."

"Sorry," Akira says, and brushes his fingers against the same spot again.

Yukihira yelps, pulling even further away. "Hey! You bastard, that was on purpose."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He moves in again, but Yukihira goes for his wrist.

"Don't you—! Oi!" A laugh bubbles from his mouth when Akira touches his side, a bright sound that he wants to hear again.

Akira doesn't tease him mercilessly, but just a handful of pokes have Yukihira giggling and swatting at him. But he still lets Akira wrap his arms around him, lets Akira bury his face against his neck and breathe in the smell of soap and sweat and herbs that is quickly becoming comforting to him.

"It looks good on you," Yukihira says, just a mumble in his ear followed by a tug on his front. "The shirt."

Akira is too embarrassed to say anything in reply. Besides, sleep is beginning to tug at him more persistently with each minute he sinks deeper into Yukihira's warmth.

"Hey," Yukihira says. "You can't fall asleep, we're still on the floor. Can't we share the bed now?"

He doesn't move an inch.

Yukihira exhales a fond sigh. Akira feels a hand brush his bangs away from his forehead.

"Fine," Yukihira says. "We can talk more tomorrow."

Akira makes a vague hum. Words push against his lips, words he has wanted to say for a long time now. Sleep lays too heavily over him and the words do not make it out, but he leans in closer to the touch of Yukihira's hand, and he seems to understand the unspoken _thank you_ anyway.

He falls asleep to the feeling of Yukihira's fingers in his hair, the reassurance of _tomorrow_ settled warm in the center of his heart.


End file.
